


ME Drabbles

by winter156



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-14
Updated: 2014-04-04
Packaged: 2018-01-18 04:41:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1415470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winter156/pseuds/winter156
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vignettes and unrelated drabbles of moments in various characters lives of the ME universe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> These are just drabbles that pop into my head. They consist of different topics, different pairing, and different stories generally. I'm using them as a practice tool mostly. That said, I'll take any prompts you would like me to take a stab at. Words, phrases, ideas, anything you'd like to suggest, I'll see if I can work with it.

**Change the World**

"Mommy," came the sleepy voice of the six-year old snuggled under the blankets.

"Yes, darling," Hannah turned from the datapad she was reading to her ever curious daughter, wondering what questions or comments she would have. She smiled as the tiny child pulled herself up slightly to look her mother in the eye.

"I'm going to change the world when I grow up," her small face set itself in solid determination, her little shoulders straightening, and the sleep tugging at her eyes disappearing in her focus.

Hannah's smile widened at the comment as she moved to sit beside the girl. Tucking a stray lock of hair behind a small ear, she leaned close to kiss her daughter's forehead. "You do realize," Hannah tilted the small face up to her, holding it gently, "that the world is bigger than this ship." At the definitive nod, Hannah ventured to ask, "So how do you plan on changing the world, darling?"

"I'll always do the right thing," the small head nodded again before a yawn stopped further elaboration. "I'll be just like you," the tiny voice informed Hannah as the child crawled into her mother's lap and promptly fell asleep.

* * *

**Miranda Cares About More Than Just Her Sister**

Miranda is many things, deceiver and liar included. But, she has never lied to herself. By some mysterious internal moral compass, the former Cerberus operative maintains a rigid honesty with herself. So, she freely admits that it is a bit narcissistic to love her sister so fiercely. Oriana is, after all, simply an exact copy (several years her junior) of her own genes. By all rights, her sister is just herself fifteen years younger. The fact remains, however, that Miranda loves Oriana and little else.

Except, perhaps, impossibly, Jack. Pushed up against a half-blown-out wall, gasping for breath, on the precipice of release as the very galaxy comes to an end, fingers digging into a tattooed back, hips grinding against an unexpectedly gentle hand, Miranda must admit she cares about more than just her sister.

* * *

**It Only Happens in Fairy Tales**

Clutching your bleeding side, you grip the gun in your other hand harder in a vain attempt to quell the pain. Every step you take sends shooting pain through every neuron still functioning in your system. The broken bones in your chest grate against the muscle and soft tissue covering your lungs. Breathing has become harder; you suspect that one of your ribs has ripped through your lung. You cough up blood as you come to a stop before the choices in front of you. _Is choice really choice when you have no choice at all in the matter?_ The thought flits through your mind as your face pulls into a grotesque semblance of a smile, completely devoid of mirth but your face muscles twitching in realization of an eternal, immutable truth: saving the world, getting the girl, living happily ever after are things that only happen in fairy tales.


	2. Chapter 2

**Like an old married couple**

Shepard's patience finally snapped. She whirled on the two bickering women and glared at them so pointedly they immediately stopped talking. "You two are driving me insane," the Commander's voice was slightly crazed, "You bicker constantly like an old married couple." Another death glare kept any comments to the statement from being spoken. "Fuck already to get it out of your systems. But, for God's sake, shut up."

Two pretty mouths dropped open as an exasperated Shepard stalked out of their immediate vicinity. Miranda, ever the pragmatic, recovered first, "Well, that was uncalled for."

Jack stared after the Commander her brow furrowed in thought. The silence that stretched on in the aftermath of the comment was beginning to get awkward. Brown eyes slid over the tight leathers the Cerberus officer wore, blood thrumming arousal pleasantly through Jack at the blatant display of perfection. "Fuck," she spat in disgust at the unwanted attraction, "she may have a point."

* * *

**Unjust**

The gun feels like it's fused to your hand. _Fitting,_ you think darkly as you double over in pain. Back bent at your waist, hands on your knees, barely keeping yourself upright you watch with detached fascination as the liquid carrying your life stains the floor beneath your dirty boots. You feel yourself smile insanely at the cosmic irony of it all.

You stumble forward a few steps innately knowing that the severe limp and crippling pain shooting up your leg means your ankle is broken; badly if the pain is any indication. You stop again. Breathing is becoming a significantly harder task to accomplish. You pull your hand away from your side and aren't shocked to see it completely stained deep red with your blood. You can feel the broken ribs protruding through your skin and scraping jaggedly against the armor burned onto your epidermis.

Forcing yourself to move a few more steps, you suspect one of the broken ribs has punctured a lung. The extremely pronounced shortness of breath and the horrible ache in your chest makes you certain one of your lungs has collapsed and the other is likely filling with blood. If you don't hurry, you'll drown in your own blood before you can finish this mission.

You try to laugh at the idea of dying so pathetically only a few feet from ending this whole war. The noise that escapes your throat is a rumbled gurgle that sounds as if you're about to choke. You absently wish shock would set in so you don't have to feel so damn much. Your mind is beginning to get fuzzy. And, the pain feels like it's literally radiating from every single nerve ending still alive in your body.

You grip the gun harder ignoring as blood drips from your nose, forehead and mouth to splatter on the pristine floor where no organic has ever stepped foot on before you. You suddenly realize how tired you are. You feel a bone deep weariness leaching your soul of its energy.

Wiping away the blood dripping into your eyes, you have a moment of sudden clarity. You've known this would be the end. You knew from the moment Anderson threw those dog tags back at you; the moment you fled a burning Earth. You would not escape this war alive. But, at this moment, faced with your own mortality you can't help but feel relief. An utter, inexplicable liberation garnered by a sense of finally resting your weary soul from the exhausting job of being the galaxy's hope.

You can't fault the galaxy for their need to have faith in something. You know they needed a symbol; a hero to rally behind. You know they needed the comfort that only the elusive quality of hope provided. _Hope_. The word bounces around in your head as you move listlessly toward your goal. You cynically think that hope is the cruelest of sentient emotions. It's the expectation of something unattainable, the self feeding delusion that you can overcome if you just never give up. Even though you are about to fulfill the galaxy's hope, you scoff at the idea. Not because you don't believe in it, but because you're its sole arbiter, its tool; and you don't feel comforted by it, but abused of it.

Shaking your head, you try to dust of the thought that the only thing worse than hope, is _being_ hope for someone else. The incredible weight of such expectation is overwhelming. Your mind travels to Wrex and his demand for a genophage cure. The impossibility of curing a one-thousand-year plague making you weary even before you attempted it. Add on top of that an attempt to appease an unscrupulous salarian populace and the stress of it was nauseating. Then brokering a peace between two warring nations that had been at war for longer than the human race had existed in galactic politics was near paralyzing in its intensity. And then, the utter failure on Thessia where you were expected to show up and magically turn the tide of a full on Reaper invasion of the planet was devastating. Thessia was by far the most crushing because it's where you showed you were only human; where everyone's hope was misplaced.

But worst of all is your crew, you think almost bitterly as you ignore the agonizing pain making you break out in a cold sweat. Your crew saw you bloody, tired, and weak but held you on some sort of pedestal. Even though all you wanted was to be supported, bolstered and encouraged they assumed it wasn't their place. The acrid, bitter taste of blood in your mouth sours further as you think back to every moment, every conversation.

The hope, the faith, the expectation placed on you during this war is crushing in its weight. You feel it grind you down until you feel pulverized by its heaviness. You can't escape it. You are even haunted by the specter of it in your dreams. But, you know that what everyone sees in you is strength and determination. And, that makes you feel guilty for resenting them their hope. You know it's all they have to hang on to; all they have to live on.

You know it's the duty and the responsibility of the strong to protect the weak. Breathing in broken gasps now, you stumble the last few steps to your goal. Wiping more blood from your face, you absently wonder who protects the strong when they are weak. Swaying slightly where you stand, you blink your eyes quickly to bring the world into focus. Looking up, you see the last battle of this cycle being waged.

Focusing your tired eyes back on the task at hand, you can't help but think the hope of the galaxy is a heavy burden to bear. It crushes you (even now) under its weight. But, with the end so near in sight, you shoulder its load squarely one more time. Straightening, you lift your gun and walk toward your end arrogantly, proudly, unafraid. Every shot resounds loudly as you empty your clip and the crucible readies to fire.

You blink and are engulfed in a blaze of red. You close your eyes one last time. You float on a gust of heat before your pain disappears.

And for the first time in what feels like ages, you feel peace.


	3. Chapter 3

**The Impossibility of Being Human**

I handled him very gently. His excitement was new to him and wonderful to behold. He spoke in numbers which stuttered and stopped before moving so quickly as to be incomprehensible as I undressed him. I rested my hands on his hips, my fingers grazing the elastic of his undergarments (boxers I think humans call them). I looked at his eyes and asked him if he was sure. It would not do to take advantage of such sweet innocence.

His large, soft hands traced up my bare arms. He got distracted from his purpose by the contrast of our skin tones. He continued to trace delicate patters across my blue skin with his pale fingers. I smiled gently at him allowing the chaste exploration. I could feel his nervous excitement through the pressure of his hands and the subtle electrical signals bouncing from his skin to mine. He remembered himself releasing a soft _yes_ as he looked me in the eyes.

I nodded and divested him of the final barrier. My eyes took him in. He was long and lean, all wiry muscle. He was well proportioned. My heart ached at the extensive scars marring his body. This quiet, shy human had lived through so much. I wanted to know every story attached to each scar. I wanted to kiss any remembered pain away and make him whole again.

My eyes finally travelled back to his face. He swallowed nervously not used to the scrutiny of a lover. I pressed my hand to his naked chest and felt his racing heart. My fingers moved in soothing patterns meant to calm him as I stood on tiptoes to place my lips on his. He shivered at the contact. I could feel his excitement outgrowing his nervousness.

Moving flush against him, my arms circling his neck, my hands finding purchase in the hair he had only recently allowed to begin growing on his head, I heard him gasp at the contact of my cool clothing against his heated skin. His hands fluttered momentarily before finding purchase on my lower back.

I swiped my tongue against his closed lips and he opened his mouth to me. I explored his mouth slowly, delighting in his taste and texture. He tasted of the peppermint chocolates he's so fond of. His hands gripped my back tighter in reflex. Soft gasps and little moans escaped him; I don't think he even realized the sounds he was making. His excitement was intoxicating. I smiled until his tongue moved to reciprocate exploration. Then, I moaned into his mouth. He was a quick study.

Lightheaded from lack of oxygen and his gentle probing, I broke the kiss. His mouth followed mine, I kissed him softly before taking a step back from him. I couldn't help the smile that captured my face when his hands wouldn't let me go.

"Aryn," his voice held his questions, his desires, his excitement, his hope.

"I'm not going far," I reassured him.

My hands moved to quickly remove my clothing. I could feel his eyes on my every move, so I slowed my movements and gave him time to process every motion. It had been years since anyone had sparked enough of an interest in me to take as a lover. The novelty of such a singularly invested partner was delicious pleasure. His excitement at each new development heightened my own. It had been far too long since anyone had stimulated me so. I could smell my own arousal.

Dropping the final piece of cloth from my body, I stood before him naked. His eyes devoured me. And, everywhere they looked felt like a physical caress. He looked and looked and looked, his eyes wide and dilated. No one had ever looked at me like he did. He looked at me like everything began and ended with me. He looked at me like I was the central point of his existence. He looked at me like I answered all his questions. He looked at me like I was the whole basis of the universe. He looked at me like I was mathematics.

I felt powerful. And, humbled. And, completely aroused.

His excitement was clearly evident between us but his inexperience kept him still; his numbers never held such form. A wide smile lighted my face, I could feel it and his face instantly reflected it. Humans: such wonderfully complex creatures. I moved to him and gasped at the feel of his hot skin against mine. His mouth found mine and his kiss held more urgency. I could feel his length pulse between us. I took it in my hand and pumped the length of it. He groaned, his body jerking at the feel of my hand around him.

His eyes closed tightly, his hands gripped my shoulders as he moved into the motion of my hand. I kissed him, swallowing his moans, and continued to steadily pump his member. He jerked unsteadily against me and exploded into my hand. I held him up as he panted into my neck, his pleasure making him tremble in my arms.

He was still hard against me, so I walked him to the small bed behind him and laid him down on it. I watched him watching me as I straddled him. My hands on his chest, I lowered myself onto his shaft slowly. His hands latched onto my thighs as he held on for dear life. His face showed his pleasure, his excitement, his utter unbelief of what I was making him feel.

My center pulsed around him; he filled me so completely. Molten pleasure shot up and down my spine. I rode him slowly delighting in the exquisite feel of him in me. His hands moved across my skin, stopping on my breasts. He cupped them, his thumbs rubbing the pointed nipples. I moaned and leaned into him. He continued to devote his attention to my straining nipples as his hips fell into a torturously slow rhythm with my own.

In an unexpected move, he rose and took a nipple in his mouth. I gasped at the contact of his hot mouth to my skin and the change of angle that caused him to enter me deeper. I wrapped my legs around his back and help his head to me. We moved faster. I could feel him pulsing inside me.

I felt my eyes turn black. I could taste our combined arousal in the air. I looked down at him and could see the electrical signals bouncing off him like colorful energy. I wanted to meld with him and entwine myself completely with him.

"I want…" His eyes looked deeply into mine. He nodded. He didn't know what he was agreeing to. He'd never been with anyone, much less an asari. He didn't know what consent he was giving. But, he trusted me and wanted to please me as much as I pleased him. In that moment, I knew I loved this odd creature that spouted numbers when we talked, that shyly approached me during down time, that wrote me emails in primes and squares, that gifted me folded paper (origami he called it).

So I moved into his mind like he moved into my body. And we embraced eternity together.

His mind was magnificent. As big and wide as the whole of time and space. And as deep as a black hole. It made me stop in awe and stare in wonder. His numbers flowed into beautiful cohesion in his mind. His primes, squares, derivatives, and integrals all had form and function in his imagination. They translated to poetry and art and architecture. In his mind, there existed nothing but beauty and loveliness.

And I wept at the inexpressible beauty of his soul. And, he smiled gently at me and held me like a precious creature. And, together we moved and existed and build each other up and up and up. Him in me and I in him. Our bodies moving in increasingly maddening tempo. Our minds interlocked in mutual exploration. Until we were so full of one another- me so full of him, and he so full of me, mind, body, soul entwined—that we shattered.

I could feel him trembling in the afterglow of such magnificent splendor. I also trembled. He laid me down gently and pulled a sheet over our bodies. His old, old eyes looked at me in awe as his trembling hand came up to trace the contours of my face. He leaned in slowly and kissed me softly telling me he loved me like water and then rattling off a series of numbers.

But, I understood because his mind was still resplendent in my own. He loved me like water is attracted to water: inevitably, constantly, by bonds greater than itself. He loved me with the same need that living creatures needed water to exist: necessarily, absolutely, completely. He loved me with the depth of my history: long, varied, consistently. He loved me and said so candidly as was his nature: unafraid and beautiful.

I wiped the tears from his face and cradled him to me. He was precious; and he was mine.

"I love you like infinity, David."


End file.
